Stuck In Complicated Simplicity or a Closet
by ALC Punk
Summary: Stuck in a closet with Vanna White. Er. Sheppard. Poor Elizabeth... Set in the middle of 'Poisoning the Well'.


Disclaimer: Not mine.  
Rating: PG13, Set: in the middle of 'Poisoning the Well.  
Notes: For the record, my Lizzie and Shepwhore are being all freakily teenager at me. Or just strangely weird. Dunno which.  
  
Dedication: This one's for StarsLikeDust. Happy birthday, darlin'.  
  
Stuck In Complicated Simplicity (or a Closet, Whichever Comes First)  
by Ana Lyssie Cotton  
  
Closets. Dr. Elizabeth Weir had once been entirely certain that she'd gotten over amorous encounters in closets. At about the age of 16, when it stopped being amusing. Until now. Because what Major John Sheppard could do to a woman in six seconds in a closet? Should be outlawed by the Geneva convention. His lips were sliding along her throat and she knew that in a moment one hand would have slid under her shirt to trace her skin gently.  
  
"John."  
  
"Shh." The breath slid over her damp skin and she shivered. "You're interrupting."  
  
"Jo--Oh." Surprise attack. The hand had changed direction (mind of its own, apparently) and slid down the front of her pants. Her back arched and her legs shifted without requiring prior acknowledgment from her brain. "John." She managed. Not that she wanted him to stop. But. There was a briefing. Or something. The details were becoming hazy, and his hair felt really nice as she ran her fingers through it.  
  
But he seemed to understand that she was asking him to stop (even if it was only half-hearted), and so he pulled back. "Yes?"  
  
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to not stop. But there were responsibilities. "As much as I'm enjoying this," She paused and gasped as the hand down her pants gently rubbed its fingers just. So. "There are--things."  
  
"Mmm. Things?"  
  
The fingers twitched again. "John--Major Sheppard."  
  
A slight sigh and then he pulled his hand out. "All right, Dr. Weir. Time to be official." He carefully licked his fingers, then dried them on the edge of his shirt.  
  
"Yeah." She considered telling him how mussed his hair was. But it looked damn cute on him. "We should... Go."  
  
"Go. You first."  
  
"Fine."  
  
They stood there in the closet, neither moving. Elizabeth tried to make herself taller, so as to loom. She knew that looming was a good intimidation tactic. So did Sheppard, probably. He didn't look fazed at all. He merely stared at her, the mocking laughter slowly leaving his eyes until he looked almost serious. "What?"  
  
"We're... this is... a thing. Isn't it."  
  
"A thing?" He raised both eyebrows.  
  
"Yeah." Oooh, feeling articulate today she wasn't.  
  
He wrinkled his brow, and carefully said, "So... we have... a thing."  
  
"Yes." She felt obscurely relieved that this was now out in the open. Not that she felt any further inclination to talk about it. Or even acknowledge that she had.  
  
Major John Sheppard was a contrary man. And she knew this. "So, what you're saying, Dr. Elizabeth Weir, is that we're in a relationship."  
  
"No--" She closed her mouth. That had so come out wrong.  
  
"So, it's just... friends with benefits, then."  
  
That wasn't what she meant. Because that sounded pathetic and stupid and something only irritating people who didn't have their crap together would do. Oh. "No."  
  
Sheppard crossed his arms and leaned against the wall with the nonchalance of a man who is willing to wait a hundred years for the answer to his question. "Then what are we in?"  
  
"A thing." Elizabeth replied.  
  
"You said that."  
  
So she had. Damn. This was pathetic. Straightening her back, she attempted to look more threatening. "This is ridiculous."  
  
"Yes." A smirk touched his lips. "Don't we have a briefing to go to?"  
  
She glared at him. "Major--"  
  
"It's all right, Lizzie."  
  
"Don't call me that."  
  
He raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"  
  
"I don't like it."  
  
"Uh-huh." He opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. "Come on, Dr. Elizabeth Jane Weir. We have a briefing to run."  
  
How the hell did he know her middle name? She was so not telling him that his hair was still a mess. See if everyone took HIM seriously with that rat's nest. "After you, Major."  
  
"Oh, I don't know," He leaned in, lips touching her cheek and whispered, "I prefer it if you come first."  
  
That. Bastard. She had no time to hit him, kick him, or verbally slay him. There was a meeting to run, and people counting on her. But afterwards--and ignoring whatever the hell this thing was--she was SO making him keep that promise. Out of the closet.  
  
-finis- 


End file.
